


the shattering

by navylights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, djinn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navylights/pseuds/navylights
Summary: "We burned you."And yet here he is, lying on the map table, in a hospital gown and a new body. A female body. A body Dean's allowed to touch; allowed to say things to that he's never even allowed himself to even think.But things are not quite what they seem, and just when the world seems right, it shows its true hand, and Dean will be forced to reconcile the parts of himself he's kept hidden with the structures of reality.





	1. Second Coming

**Author's Note:**

> hello darkness (ao3) my old friend.........
> 
> I thought I was over Supernatural, but I made a grave error and watched the last three seasons in a row a few weeks ago and I've been dunked straight into this fresh hell. I forgot the password I used on this sweet and terrible website back in 2013 or so (Kevin resurrection fics I see u) (also that's probably a good thing bc let's be real I am never finishing that one fic I still get emails for in this the year of our lord 2017)
> 
> This story has been bothering me and waiting to be written. I love Destiel, esp in the OG bodies, but as much as I love it, I don't know if I can see the show ever including it, so I began to think of ways that might happen. So this is like me taking that way and turning it into what I want anyways. 
> 
> Also, my writing is mediocre at the best of times and this is like 4am hell fic so.....yikes I guess? But here it is

The bunker door shuts with its normal solid sound, but the brothers are silent. Sam keeps shooting concerned glances at Dean, whose dull stare is more than just the result of eyes on the road for hours.

“Get some rest,” Sam tells Dean when they reach the bottom of the staircase. Dean makes a sound that, impossibly, encompasses both grunt of dismissal and sarcastic scoff of _no way in hell_. The bunker is dark, and unusually cold, still compromised from their explosive escape.

Though Sam continues on, Dean stops. In the dark, if he tries hard, he can imagine that Mom and Cas are in the next room, sitting at the map table and drinking a beer.

“Dean?!” Sam’s voice is suddenly full of urgency, and Dean’s heart bottoms out. He runs. He can't even think about what losing Sam too would do to him right now- not ever, but _especially_ not now- not when his other two family members have been killed on the same day. His gun is out, his weary bones are quick, when the light flickers on.

Lying on the map table is a woman. She wears a pair of white cotton underwear beneath a twisted hospital gown. But she is unconscious, and her skin is covered with goosebumps.

“What the….” Dean says as he takes the stairs, two at a time, to stand next to his brother. On her right upper arm is a mark, pink and swollen with scar tissue. A handprint.

“Do you recognize her?” Sam asks. It's clear he has no ideas. She is no one they have ever seen. She has light brown skin and dark hair. She looks to be Latina. His heartbeat does something uncomfortable in his chest. That handprint….

“I'm gonna check her out,” Sam said, going to find some holy water and other substances that will reveal her to be something unwelcome if she reacts.

Dean is frozen for a moment. His mind won't even let him hope, so he skips straight to the defensive. Something is taunting him. Something went far enough back into his memories that it found the marking that he hasn't thought about in _years_. Something is baiting him- is reminding him what he's just lost. His heart is washed with an enormous wave of sadness so strong it threatens to push his whole body to the floor.

But his hand seems to ignore the memo, and he's reaching for the mark-

“Okay, I got it,” Sam says, returning to the room, but Dean ignores him. He's already laying his whole hand upon the mark. Her skin is so cold.

A jolt shoots up his arm and her eyes flash open in the same instant when his skin meets hers. Her eyes are bloodshot and warm brown. She struggles to move her head, eyes moving over Sam, who's closer to the top of her body, and settling on-

“Dean,” she says, but it's more of a cough, and suddenly her whole body is shaking with coughs. His hand is still on her arm.

“Uh, here,” he says. His heart feels numb. He doesn't even allow himself to consider the possibility of what he wants this to mean. He pushes that thought deep down and shrugs off his jacket, laying it over her torso.

But Sam is still wary. He splashes her with holy water, and she lets it happen, body wracked with the effort of her coughing fit. Dean pulls her into a sitting position, thinking that it'll make it easier for her.

“Who are you?” Sam asks.

“I'm- I'm-” she's interrupted by another cough, and looks at Dean for help.

“Cas?” Dean asks, voice nothing louder than a breath. She nods. Dean turns to his brother. “It's Castiel,” he announces, eyes full of shock. Sam’s mouth twists. Dean can tell he's pitying him.

“Dean, that's impossible,” Sam says, voice quiet.

"We burned you," Dean says, voice quiet, inscrutable.

The woman grabs Sam’s flask of holy water and drinks it. The coughing subsides a bit.

“It's true,” she says finally.

“How are you here?” Dean asks quietly.

“I- I had to leave my vessel behind. This woman died the second I was pulled to Earth. She gave me permission to use it.” A long pause. “But something went wrong.”

“How do we know you're Castiel?” Sam asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“If I was something else imitating Castiel, why wouldn't I just take my old form?”

“Cas, wait, what went wrong?” Dean asked.

“I used the last of my grace to come here. It's gone,” Cas said quietly.

 

* * *

 

“Here,” Dean says, holding out a weathered grey t-shirt and an orange and brown flannel shirt. “They'll be loose on you, but they'll stay on. Much better than anything of Sam’s, at least. I don't know if I have any pants that will fit, though.” Cas’s new body was much shorter than his old one, and much less solidly built. Her hospital gown kep slipping from her shoulders. “Wait, hold on. Aha. Drawstring pants. Just pull the strings super tight before you tie them.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem. We can look through storage tomorrow, see if there's anything, you know, made for….women.” Dean swallowed. What had happened to Charlie's duffle bag, the last time she was here, when she’d…. So many losses. His throat hurt.

Castiel unceremoniously dropped the hospital gown to the floor and began to dress.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah man,” Dean said, looking away dramatically. “You can't just-” he cleared his throat. “I'll go into the hallway.”

“You have seen me shirtless before,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, but that's different. You're a chick now.”

Castiel blinked. “I am still a genderless being,” he said. “That has not changed.”

“You still- um. Let me just go into the hallway.”

Dean stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wasn't drunk enough to deal with this.

“Cas, I'm going to go grab something to drink. I'll be back,” he called.

“Okay.”

In the kitchen, Sam was spreading almond butter on stale whole grain bread. He looked up when Dean came into the room.

“So it's really Castiel?”

“It's really him,” Dean said. “No one else could fake being that awkward. And he knows things. Things only Castiel would know. Things about us.” It was unclear to both of them who the ‘us’ was referring to.

“Still, I think we should be careful.” Sam took a big bite out of the corner of his sandwich, grimacing at the staleness of the bread.

“Yeah, I guess. But for now, he's just cold and tired. Not used to needing sleep. And food, probably. I should get him something to eat. What do we have that's still good?” Dean opened the fridge.

“Give her one of those burritos,” Sam suggested, pulling one out of the freezer, unwrapping it, and tossing it in the microwave on an old brown ceramic plate. At Dean’s reluctant look, he suggested, “you can make her a real meal tomorrow. But for now, you both need to rest.”

Dean carried the hot plate down the hall, with a glass of water. He nudged the door open with his shoulder. Cas was on the floor, unconscious again, though fully changed, at least. Dean threw the water and plate on the dresser, and rushed to her.

“Cas?”

But Cas was breathing fine, just tired.

“Alright, up you go,” Dean said, picking her up and laying her gently on the bed. He covered her with the blanket, and placed the burrito and glass of water on the nightstand next to her in case she woke up hungry or thirsty. Then, he turned off the lights, and went to find another room to sleep in.

 

* * *

 

The night after Castiel had slept in his bed, Dean could still smell him on the sheets. His new vessel’s skin smelled different, but he could still smell….the scent of the air in a thunderstorm. Electricity. Castiel.


	2. A Differnt Kind Of Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Cas to the mall to buy some clothes more suitable to his new vessel. Dean and Cas leave Victoria's Secret in disgrace. Cas eats a soft pretzel because he deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the fic name because I fucking hated it
> 
> I fucking hate this one too so I might change it again
> 
> Disclaimer: I cannot wear Victoria's Secret so forgive me any inaccuracies

“Good morning, Dean,” Sam said. “Coffee in the machine.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” His computer was open in front of him to a news website and a police database. “Possible case in South Carolina,” he said. “Five people go missing over the course of a few days, and the police find only one body. But get this: the body is a combination of all the missing people. African American leg, woman’s torso, hairy trucker arm, et cetera. All in one body. What do you say?”

Dean poured his coffee and didn't respond. He turned, leaning against the counter.

“What?”

“Nothing. It's just…”

“Castiel,” Sam finished.

“I don't want to leave him alone.”

Sam sighed, but nodded. “I'll call Jody, and see if there's anyone nearby that I can work with.”

He left later that morning. Cas had been in the bunker for a few days now, and Dean knew it was time for the former angel to get some clothes that fit his new body. He knocked on the door of the bedroom Cas had been using.

“Knock knock,” he said.

Castiel stirred. Her hair was a tangled mess. Castiel didn't know how to care for hair that was longer than two inches.

“We gotta get you a brush, man,” Dean said. “And some clothes. “Wanna go shopping?”

“Can we eat breakfast first?” Cas asked. Dean huffed out a laugh.

“I'll make eggs,” he said. Castiel sat at the kitchen table while Dean cooked, and he could feel her eyes on the back of his head. He cracked several eggs against the countertop and whipped them with a dash of milk and a pinch of black pepper as butter melted in an ancient frying pan. He poured in the liquid eggs and a sizzle filled the room.

They ate quietly. Dean stole glances at Castiel, as if making sure he was still there.

Castiel dozed against the window on the car ride to the mall. Dean looked over at him, tangled hair pulled back into a hopelessly messy ponytail. His vessel’s skin was shallower than Dean would have liked. He frowned. It felt like the relief in his heart at having Cas back was eclipsed completely by worry.

They visited Victoria’s Secret first.

“Dean, I need underwear,” Cas said, and the woman in that advertisement is wearing a brassiere.”

“Oh, would you look at that?” Dean joked, pointing at the twenty eight-foot image of a Scandinavian-looking seductress in a red lace bra. “I hadn't noticed.” Cas squinted at him.

They walked into the Victoria’s Secret. Like an old habit, Dean’s eyes scanned all of the giant display photos of unbelievably sexy women in their underwear. But it was more of a cursory, cover-all-your-bases type of look than anything; none really caught his eye. He nudged Cas and pointed to a display. A pair of lacy panties with the word ANGEL printed across the butt graced a mannequin that only existed from the lower back to the upper thigh. Cas looked confounded. Dean’s grin staled. That had been insensitive of him.

“Can I help you two?” A petite woman in her early twenties with distractingly blue eyes looked up from where she folded a display of silky slips. Her eyes darted over Castiel’s hodgepodge outfit: poorly fitting pants and a flannel. It wasn't glaringly obvious to the outsider that she was braless, but to a trained bra salesperson, who knew.

Cas looked vaguely overwhelmed as she ran her hands along a midnight blue pair of underwear. A redheaded woman eyed the same pair. She winked at Castiel.

“Something sexy for the boyfriend,” she stage whispered. “Of course, if that one was mine, you could never catch me wearing anything long enough to notice.”

Dean felt horrified.

“We’re not involved,” Castiel said, the usual monotony and awkward bluntness confirming for Dean once again that despite the new meatsuit, Cas was still Cas. Still his best friend.

“What a shame,” the stranger said, winking again at Cas before placing a pair of the blue underwear in her mesh shopping bag.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Dean asked the salesperson as Castiel continued to be occupied by garment-related confusion. He walked close to her and lowered his voice, a cover story coming to his mind as easily as his own name. “My sister….we lost everything. In the fire. She was in her pajamas when she ran outside, so she needs some new underwear. Can you help her out? And maybe don't mention the fire. It's still a bit…..raw, and she's a little bit slow sometimes.” It worked. The salesperson, whose name was Luciana, according to her name tag, melted, eyes suddenly full of concern.

“That's so sad. Of course I can help her. What's her name?”

“Cass,” Dean said, intentionally pronouncing the name as if it was short for Cassandra. “I don't know if she'll know her bra size. I don't know if it sounds creepy for me to know that, but it's been really hard since our parents died. She's all I have left.”

Luciana nodded eagerly. “I'll do my very best.”

Half an hour later, Castiel emerged from the dressing rooms, looking confused and uncomfortable, eight bras in her hands. Luciana followed, looking angry.

“Dean? Did you tell her that I was your sister?”

Ah, shit. Should have cleared the story with Cas first. Dean was so used to Sam’s improvisational skills that it threw him off guard to be working with the densest being in all of the realms.

“Look, I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing,” Luciana said, voice lowered to avoid a scene, “but you're a sick, sick bastard to be toying with a girl like her.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled. He took Castiel’s arm and hightailed it to the register, grabbing some underpants at random (7 for $28!) on the way. As they left, he saw Luciana whispering to the cashier, whose mouth dropped open.

“Alright, Cas, time to go,” Dean said.

“I don't understand what happened,” Cas said.

“I told her you lost all your clothes in the tragic fire that killed our parents.”

“Oh. So when I said…” Dean could practically see the wheels turning in Castiel’s mind.

“Don't worry about it. Let's go buy some clothes.”

They bought her a handful of basic t-shirts in all sorts of dark colors from GAP, along with a pair of jeans. In American Eagle- “Cas, that store is for teenagers. Wait, come back!- a couple of sweaters, a set of plaid pajamas, and several of something called a “boyfriend flannel”. In Macy’s, Cas purchased some expensive toiletries and a copper hairbrush. Dean had no idea why they even made those.

“This shampoo is thirty nine dollars,” Castiel stated. “Is that a problem?”

“Not like it's hard earned cash,” Dean said, shrugging. He had found himself a great jacket in the menswear section while Cas browsed, and made their purchases on the fake card.

“Should I purchase something formal, too? So that I can wear it on a case if I need to? For the FBI?” Cas pointed at a dress boutique.

“It's different for women. Guys wear suits to work and to fancy events, but women have to find something business casual.”

“Oh. I understand,” Cas said, clearly not understanding. Dean picked out a badass power lady pantsuit in Banana Republic. It was roughly the color of his old suit, the one he'd spent years in. “Grab two of these, just in case,” he said, handing Cas a couple of no-iron button downs.

“What is a bath bomb?” Castiel asked, squinting at the colorful pile of objects in the display window of Lush.

“I dunno. You want one?”

* * *

 

On their way out of the mall, they passed the Auntie Anne’s stand, and Cas’s eyes widened.

“Those smell….” Castiel drew in a deep breath. “Unbelievable.”

“I'll buy you a damn pretzel, Cas,” Dean said, amused. “Cinnamon or salty?”

“Cinnamon,” Castiel said. “I enjoyed cinnamon very much in my last body.” This statement garnered a weird look from the pretzel guy, but Dean caught his eye and shrugged as if to say, what can ya do?

Dean piled the shopping bags in the backseat of the Impala as Castiel savored the pretzel, a rapturous look on her face. She'd changed into a pair of jeans and a navy t-shirt in the bathroom, but still wore Dean’s flannel over top, despite having her own now, and despite the fact that it pooled around her wrists and fell down to her thighs.

As they drove out of the mall parking lot, Dean’s phone rang.”

“H’lo?”

“Hey, it's me,” Sam said.

“Sam? How's the case?”

“Haven't started it yet. I was wondering if you could take some pictures of this one book we have. I can't find a digital version anywhere. Are you home?”

“No, I'm at the mall with Cas. Just left, actually. He needed some new duds. But I don't think I can show my face in that Victoria's Secret ever again.”

“Oh god, what did you do? You know what, never mind. I don't want to know. Just call me when you get home. I'll text you the title of the book.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

In the front seat, Cas had grabbed a bottle of the shampoo and was smelling it curiously.

“I don't believe this smells like tropical breeze,” he said. “That would smell like rotting aquatic life and human garbage.”

“No, but that wouldn't sell many toiletries.”

“What kind of toiletries do you use?”

“Nothing like that, that's for sure.” Dean chuckled. “I used to just use the little bottles that come in hotel rooms, but now it's just whatever three-in-one you can get at the grocery store.”

“If you have unlimited money, why not allow yourself some luxury?”

“I'm a guy, Cas. I don't need any coconut pineapple paradise bullshit. I have like half an inch of hair.”

Castiel regarded him. “I wish you wouldn't deny yourself pleasant experiences based on your constructs of gender,” she said. “Even Sam allows himself to-”

“How ‘bout some music?” Dean flipped on the radio, ignoring Cas’s face and the brief flash of hurt that crossed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if this show was a nicer friendlier show where all they did was buy bath bombs and soft pretzels


	3. Tropical Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes a shower. Castiel takes things literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beep bop here it is
> 
> Idek why I'm still writing this

Dean squeezed out a palmful of his three-in-one and rubbed it between his hands. As per usual, the shower pressure felt amazing, and he felt any tension wash away into the drain.

He brought the blue gel up to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled like chemicals.

Maybe Cas was right. Maybe you should let yourself-

No. This stuff does the job. Dean began to lather his hair. He remembered some article somewhere that the strongest sense linked to memory was the sense of smell, and maybe it was true. This shampoo didn't smell great. In fact, it smelled like straight up despair. He wasn't quite sure why. After all, he'd mostly used tiny bottles of different shampoos his entire life. He didn't get into a domestic habit long enough to form such a visceral connection to this kind of stuff. Before the bunker, the only thing that sprang to mind was….a little house in the suburbs, a dead brother.

Dean squeezed the entire bottle onto the floor and rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Cas was right. He could afford better. Or maybe just steal Sam’s fancy shit. He turned off the water.

But there was still blue goo all over the floor, and he slipped, falling hard. The little tile rim of the shower jammed into his rib cage and knocked the wind out of him. Dizzy and in pain, his eyes watered.

“Dean, are you okay?”

Castiel was in the doorway, body wrapped in a white towel. She dropped her new toiletries and hairbrush, and the bottle of shampoo burst open as she rushed towards him.

“M’fine,” Dean grunted. “Just…..slipped.”

Cas swallowed. Her hand was above Dean’s temple, hovering, unsure. Dean was suddenly very aware of how naked he ways, but Cas’s brown eyes- brown eyes. That feels so wrong.- never strayed from his own eyes.

When his breath returned , he sat up, shielding his nakedness from her. He reached up and pulled his towel from the hook, and clutched it in front of himself as he stood up.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm sure,” he said. They were standing awkwardly close. Dean felt his face heat up, and tried his best to wrap his towel around his hips without exposing himself. Castiel maintained eye contact the entire time, making things a thousand times worse.

“Oh no, your shampoo,” Dean said. The tropical breeze concoction was oozing all over the floor.

“It doesn't matter,” Cas said. “You are of greater concern to me.”

Dean awkwardly dodged her glance, and cleared his throat.

“Anyways, I gotta, uh, head to bed,” he said. “Need my beauty rest.” He cursed himself a bit. He didn't need for Cas to get confused by an idiom right now. But neither of them spoke, or moved. Dean gazed at her. She really was beautiful. His heart did an uncomfortable somersault in his chest, and he glanced away.

“Goodnight, Dean,” she said finally, and stepped past him into the shower.

In his room, Dean dressed slowly.

No, no, no. It's Castiel. Your friend. The guy. The man. The dude. None of this increased heart rate, awkward staring shit. Just cause he looks like a girl now doesn't mean he is one.

But deep, deep down, another voice spoke. Maybe this isn't a bad thing. But to examine why it wasn't a bad thing would drag out a whole new can of worms that Dean would never, ever open as long as he lived.

After all, who could bottle things up like Dean Winchester? He forced himself to think about guns. He constructed his dream weapon in his head, and was almost asleep when he heard a quiet, hesitant knock on his door.

“Dean?”

“Cas, is that you?”

“I was wondering if I could….ask you something.”

“Sure, Cas, come in.”

Cas let herself in, closing the door behind her. She walked inside, steps tentative.

“I was just….” She sighed. “Dean, the last time I became human, I had to leave the bunker. I was wondering if that would be the case again.”

Dean sat up. “What? No! Cas, that was- listen. You are welcome here. No matter what. Forever.”

“Are you sure? I'm of no use to you anymore. My powers are diminished entirely, and I can barely take care of myself.” She huffed out a laugh. “It took me thirty minutes to figure out how to brush my hair.”

“All the more reason to keep you here.”

Cas was quiet for a long time.”

“You should get some rest.”

“You too, Dean. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know whatcha think!


End file.
